The day of what once was yours and will forever be read with your voice.

"Did you actually kiss her? Get me a diet Pepsi. Or l,the occasional. Don't be a *******." These are the words that resound love through the drywall heart I have here. This is only the second time I have thought About you. On this day. Well this is the second day of you being gone. It's so much easier believing you only leave once a year. Imagining 364 other days of disappearance melts my shins into crayons splattered on ***** carpets. That ***** impossible to get out. I got some new shoes and I would love to show you. They have helped me walk since you left. My knees are doing okay. It's the inners that don't always stand as tall as they should. My spine curves into a mended embroidered heart with broken springs  .... I really love the idea. I am not good with
seeing, but I would love to tell you that home is where the heart is... That your heart is home with me. Because if my heart is found in jack in the boxes, full of energy entwined with extra stitching and barrel rolls stuffed with memories I can't keep in my glove. Then you equipped me with metal braced joints grinding on friction laced sinews, connected with everything I thought was suppose to be true. Home is intentional. Define your existence and discover the purpose of trusting intangible options slanted between us. I trust you. I always have. The reality is that my cylindrical box of chest bones locked in a cage understands  power. Power enough to tie my shoes. I want you to know how  my shoes handle okay without you. I'm here. Writing, about you and that one day. This Mother's Day I want you to realize that you're day will be here. I'll find you in ***** sea water, dropping out of the last day of college, and chasing that perfect woman. You showed me it. Everything. Lets sleep dark concepts and understandably crossed with altered mentalities. The sun, that's where you started, please stay with me here. We will get warm soon. We are on a crooked edge of the universe wondering how to exist. We are here and now. You showed me how to be here. Because without here your love would have never existed. Here is where everything needs to be.

Every night when I go to bed
I toss and turn
Can't rest my head

A man that stares outside the glass
The night that never seems to pass

Who is this man
I do not know
The air is still, a distant glow

This man is dark but he isn't bad
Reminds me of my unknown Dad

He holds a smile thats oh so bright
And when I start to fall asleep
He disappears and says "goodnight"

Four years
Six months
Six days.

Time passes far too quickly for my liking.
The memories I want to cling to,
The memories I want to hold on to forever
Seem to fade.

Why?
Why can nothing stay as perfect as a picture
Hanging in a frame
Forever memorialized?

Fifteen years.
Six months
Eleven days.

Crying has always given me headaches,
I never liked it,
I never let myself do it
Not even then.

Why?
Why couldn’t I let myself break down
In front of Family
Who did the same?

Fifty-Nine years
Five months
Thirteen days.

That’s not nearly enough time for anyone
To live their life to it’s fullest
To tackle every thing you can
So why did it stop there?

Why?
Why couldn’t the fight go on ?
There was
So much more to do

Sixty-Three years
Eleven months
Eleven days.

To focus on the life
that existed
And not the passing
How does one do this
While keeping sanity
For I believe I must remove
My mind from behind my eyes
To not think that tomorrow
I cannot reach out to you
And touch your flesh

I am in levels. Past levels. This deep, intrinsic wonderful lost, the lawlessness of its fascinating expenditure of excite. Pushing through the wild and feral snow-dusted plains and timber ridges. Like red-spotted dots breathing through the cylinders called the spine. This descends into a narrow channel of scantly clad greenish scenery in a time-soaked visionary wilderness of snow,
Our crab legs dancing down wiry purple highways, our heads could not even look backwards if we had wanted.

Furious, love-latitudes, stalking breaths thwacking fork-ended tongues into a pinkish knot buried into the first layer of organic membrane on this railway of miniature canals, showing. And their pride snuck into the elbows, shooting down each vertebrae as it stepped with great precision every ledge that the currency emphasized. The raw accumulation of stolen heart-beats rattling between the interstices of new fuel careering these red engines. Crashing with exquisite pleasure into one another.

I stole away, with an

Angel intent on keeping 

Me company, for my

Last day on earth

She drew my name in the clouds with

Ink she bought from God,

Broke my bed,

Ripped my blankets, and

Sat me down to

Mock my ignorance

Needing a place to sit,

We built a bench, out of

Broken promises

Each knot in the wood

Melted into a bitter syrup, as I

Recommitted it to memory

We drank coffee behind the

Store that sold my

Innocence to those more

Deserving of the 

Luck they’d received.

Their tender was 

Myth and merchandise,

Final sale,

No return.

The torn soles, on the shoes I

Wore, slid softly through the

Field of grinning flowers, their

Beauty rivaled only by their

Obvious ignorance

Fingers wrapped my wrist,

Departure was inevitable

Wings spread, we soared over the

Blue and purple of the 

Flowers, shaded darkly by the 

Sun’s embarrassment

But from miles up, my

Sight, seemingly unchanged by my

Decreasing proximity

Showed me their vigilant smiles

Had she dropped me 

Anywhere else, the

Beautiful field of 

Terminal foliage

Would sway the same, with

Each windy eve

I woke up, drunk on

Sleep and whiskey, as the

Sobering veracity of my

Failure to keep dreaming

Became achingly apparent.